by Maurice Gee
‘I didn’t see you swim out,’ she said. ‘We spent all the time lying in the sun – and my sunburn’s no worse than before.’
Theo sat down. ‘Someone’s fooling round with our minds.’
‘Who? Mr Jones?’
‘It’s got to be. If he doesn’t come tomorrow we’ve got to ask Auntie where he lives. We can’t just sit here.’
She saw he had Uncle Clarry’s binoculars round his neck. ‘What are you doing with those?’
‘Watching the Wilberforces’ house. I thought I might see Mr Jones.’
‘Did you see anything?’
‘Only the man. He was standing on the lawn. The door’s open. Have a look.’
He handed her the binoculars. The lake was lit by the moon shining from behind Uncle Clarry’s house. The Wilberforces’ lawn was silver, with black tree-shadows slanting across it. The house lay deep in shadow, but when she had focused the binoculars she saw the cave made by the porch.
‘You can’t tell if the door’s open or not.’
‘I haven’t heard it close. The slightest sound carries. I heard a noise like ducks quacking a while back. And a sort of coughing.’
‘Coughing?’ She remembered the dream she had had the night before. But before she could tell him about it she felt a prickling in her mind, the pins-and-needles again. She had turned away from the Wilberforces’ house, but felt her eyes drawn back to it. A voice whispered hoarsely in her head, ‘Help me. Please help me.’
‘Theo.’
‘I heard it.’
‘Help me, twins. Before it is too late.’
‘It must be Mr Jones.’
‘Quiet.’
‘Help me. He-elp.’ The voice faded away, died with an echo.
‘It came from over there. They must have him prisoner.’
‘Unless it’s a trick.’
‘But he’s the only one who can talk to us like that. Remember Mount Eden.’
Suddenly the voice was back. It gave a long agonised cry that made them clutch their heads with pain. ‘He-elp.’
‘Oh, Theo, it’s got to be him.’
‘Yes.’
‘What shall we do?’
‘We’ve got to go over there.’
‘No –’
‘There’s no other way. He saved us, remember.’
‘We could tell Uncle Clarry.’
‘He’d think we were mad.’
That was true. She shivered. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Half past two.’
‘How will we get there?’
‘In the canoe.’
‘But he said not to go on the lake.’
‘It’s the quickest way. And the quietest. We’ll take the torch from Uncle Clarry’s car. And my camera.’
‘Why the camera?’
‘We might get some shots of something. For the police. We can use the paddles for clubs. If we have to.’
They dressed. Soon they had the canoe on the water. Theo worked it silently along the band of shadow by the shoreline. Rachel sat in the bow holding the camera and torch. No sound or movement broke the stillness of the lake. Several cars went by on the road to Milford but they seemed in another world. Rachel felt the rushes brush her arm. Three houses slipped behind them. She kept her eyes on the jutting piece of land where the Wilberforces’ lawn met the water. The smell was very strong. She was sure the Wilberforces were somewhere in the night.
Theo nosed the canoe into the reeds beyond the vacant section. A faint bluish light showed in the Wilberforces’ porch.
‘That means the door’s still open. Quiet.’ He heard the creaking sound of something heavy moving on floor boards. A dark shape came down the steps with a smaller one behind.
‘It’s both of them. Keep as still as you can.’
The Wilberforces moved down the lawn, keeping in the shade of trees. They stopped out of the twins’ sight. One, two, three minutes passed. A single cough sounded, a single quack.
‘What are they doing?’
‘Shsh.’
Suddenly two shapes, one large, one small, rushed from behind the tree towards the lake. They moved with the speed of running dogs – for a moment Rachel thought they were dogs. But the large one was too large. And she saw as they crossed a patch of moonlight that their shape was wrong. They were as low to the ground as hedgehogs – lower, as slugs. They slid down the lawn, down the bank, into the water without a splash, and were gone. A small ripple moved into the reeds and rocked the canoe.
She had felt Theo’s arm reach round her and grab his camera. ‘Too late. Damn.’
‘What were they?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m not staying near the water.’ He propelled the canoe forward. She clambered along the bow and jumped onto the lawn. He followed, splashing in the reeds. Ahead, Rachel ran towards the stone wall at the front of the house.
‘Rachel.’
She stopped.
‘We’ve got to look for Mr Jones.’
‘He hasn’t called again.’
‘He might be knocked out. Just a quick look. If he’s in there we’ve got to try and save him.’
She had never been so frightened. But she followed him up the steps into the porch. ‘I forgot my paddle.’
‘Me too. Give me the torch.’ He stood in the doorway and pointed it into the room. A blue light shone out from a small leaded window straight across from him. This was the light they had seen from the lake and from Rachel’s bedroom. Round to one side ancient curtains, black and still as water in a well, hung from brass rings on a wooden bar fixed to a lintel. Their heavy dusty tassels drooped on the floor.
Three doors led out. Each was bolted and padlocked. The only other window was boarded over.
That was all – unless … Something in the back corner of the room caught his eye. He shone the torch at it. A trapdoor lay open against the wall, with a dark hole leading down.
‘If they’ve got him, he’s either down there or behind that curtain.’
‘I don’t want to go in.’
‘We’ve got to. Come on. The trapdoor first.’
They stepped into the room. At once they were struck by its coldness. Their skin seemed to shrink and the warmth drain out of their bodies before they had gone two steps. Then they felt a stickiness on their feet and lifting them saw their soles were coated with the same grey dust Uncle Clarry had found on his lawn.
‘It’s all over the floor.’
They crept to the trapdoor. Concrete steps went into the gloom, which seemed to swallow the light of the torch when Theo shone it down.
‘I’m going to have a look.’
‘No, Theo.’
‘He might be down there. You stand at the top and shine the torch in.’
She knew that once he had started on something he would carry it through.
‘I’ll give you till I count twenty. Then I’m going.’ She knelt on the floor and shone the torch into the cellar. Theo went down the steps.
‘They’re covered with dust. Phew, the stink. Like a dunny … Shine into the corners, Rachel.’
In a moment he gave a soft cry. ‘There’s a tunnel. I think it slopes down. Give me the torch.’
‘Theo, they might come.’
‘I’ve got to see in. Hurry up.’
She ran down the steps, her feet puffing up dust, and crossed to where Theo was kneeling in a corner. The mouth of the tunnel was round like a culvert and about a metre across. Rachel shone the torch into it.
‘It goes down all right. Just a small slope,’ Theo said. ‘And it curves out of sight about five metres along.’ He reached in and felt the walls. ‘It’s glass. Some sort of grey glass. I wish we could go down.’
‘No, Theo.’
He put his head into the tunnel. ‘Mr Jones,’ he called softly, ‘are you there?’ His voice seemed to hiss and whisper and slide down into the dark. ‘Mr Jones.’
‘He’s not there, Theo. Let’s go.’
‘All right.’ He was reluctant. ‘We’ll
have a look behind those curtains.’
Rachel started up the stairs. She shone the torch behind her to light him up. But he turned. He went back to the mouth of the tunnel and crouched, listening.
‘There’s a noise down there,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, do come on.’
‘It’s like a flight of ducks, high up.’ Suddenly he felt a puff of cold air from the tunnel. It made his hair whisper about his ears. At the same time he heard a rushing slithering sound.
‘Something’s coming up. Quick, out.’
She kept the light on the steps until he was up. Then they ran to the door. The rushing sound was closer and the air forced from the tunnel raised dust in the cellar and lifted it like smoke through the trapdoor hole. ‘Put the torch on it. I’m going to get a photo.’ But Rachel had gone ahead into the porch. She ran back to his side. ‘She’s there, on the lawn. Mrs Wilberforce.’
A loud sudden quack came from the lake. They peered through the door. Beyond the shape of the woman on the lawn, silver water stretched to the opposite shore. They saw a dark shape on it, close to the foot of the hedge.
‘It’s the canoe. It must have floated out.’
Suddenly there was a cracking sound, a thrashing on the surface. The canoe vanished.
‘It must be Mr Wilberforce. He’s pulled it under.’
‘Theo, she’s coming inside.’
‘Quick, behind the curtain.’
As they reached it something came with a wet explosion out of the tunnel in the cellar. The twins dived through the curtains and Theo held them with his hands to make them still. He peered through the gap into the room. Rachel stood behind him on tip-toe, stretching her neck to see over his head. Whatever it was that had come into the cellar was mounting the steps. It came up swiftly, with a sucking sound. In the blue light it bent into the room; eased over the top step; undulated towards the door. It was grey, glistening with oil and slime. Its shape was almost exactly slug-like; a little rounder, Theo thought, like a German helmet. It had a white bone beak, a black mouth, perfectly round, that ran like a drain into its body, and two blunt knobs in place of eyes. They glowed with a black radiance. As he watched another followed, then another. They slithered to the door and into the porch.
‘What are they?’
‘Slugs. Some sort of giant slugs.’
‘Oh, Theo, how do we get out?’
‘I don’t know. One of them’s by the steps, I think.’
They turned to face the room behind them. It was empty too. Blue light shone from under a door – the same light that glowed through the window in the other room. It showed a number of flattened piles of dust against the walls.
‘Maybe they sleep on those.’
‘Let’s go. Please.’
‘They’ve nailed boards over the windows.’ He spoke calmly, but he was as terrified as her. He felt like curling up in a corner, hiding his head in his arms. But he pushed Rachel’s shoulder, moved her towards the door. ‘We’ll go through there.’ They had both forgotten Mr Jones.
They reached the door and listened for a moment. There was no sound on the other side. Theo took the handle. It turned easily. He opened the door with a push. At once they were flooded in light. It rushed out like water and washed all over them. They shielded their eyes and peered into it. Thousands of tiny stars floated in the room, tinier than gnats, than motes of dust, each one sending out its ounce of light. In places they were so thick they seemed to run together like swirls of mist. It was a long narrow room, bare as a cell, and painted black – floor, walls, ceiling. A blind pulled over a window beyond the swarming stars was black as tar.
‘Come on,’ Theo whispered. He began to edge along the side of the room.
‘What is it, Theo?’
‘A galaxy, I think.’ He got halfway along and saw one spiral arm was black. The dust motes in it sent out a radiation that touched his eyes like ice. Beyond it, separated by a metre of space, a second model came into view: a dozen balls, the size of marbles, circled about a sun. A solar system, he thought. One of the planets was black. He looked at it a moment, then went on to the window.
‘How do they stay up?’
‘I don’t know. Don’t touch them. They might be electric.’
Carefully he raised the blind until half the window was exposed. The panes were coated thickly with black paint. He saw a piece of dowelling set in a hole running through the window-sash into the frame. It acted as a bar so the window could not be raised. ‘It’s loose. You try and get it out. I’ll do the catch.’ But the catch had not been turned for many years. It was rusty and made grating sounds. At every one he stopped and listened. Outside on the lawn were quacking sounds.
‘It’s moving. Just a bit. If only I had some oil.’
‘I’ve got this thing out.’
‘Good. Hold me a minute. I’m going to spit on it.’
She supported him while he stood on the sill and spat several times on the catch. Then he worked at it again and suddenly it grated round and the window was free.
‘Now slowly, so it doesn’t squeak.’
Gently they worked the window up, one centimetre, two. Theo bent down and looked out. The light from the tiny stars spread across the lawn. ‘Right, a bit more.’
But suddenly something huge and black rushed out from the shadow of a tree. It thumped like a sack of grain on the side of the house. A single angry quack sounded in the night.
Theo slammed the window shut. He grabbed the piece of dowelling from Rachel and rammed it in its hole. ‘The slugs. They’re out there.’
‘Theo …’
‘Yes.’
Their minds were working together now, rushing along the same line of thought. They had no time to wonder at it.
‘Outside and down the steps. We’ll split up. The one who gets away calls the police.’
‘I’m scared, Theo.’
‘Me too. I’m sorry I got you into this. You go straight up the path and over the wall. I’ll duck around and try to make them follow me.’
They edged quickly by the models, ran through the room with the piles of dust, thrust open the curtains. And there, in the porch entrance, dripping with water, was Mr Wilberforce. His eyes glowed with a strange cold light and his wooden mouth smiled. ‘Welcome, children. No, don’t run. There’s nowhere you can run to.’
‘Where’s Mr Jones?’ Theo whispered.
‘Did you think that was him? Oh no. That was me calling you.’
‘Who are you?’
‘That doesn’t matter. This is the end for you.’
His face began to change and his body sink towards the floor. His nose slowly changed into a beak.
‘Theo, he’s turning himself into a slug.’
‘The cellar,’ Theo cried. ‘Run.’
Their sudden dash away from him took Mr Wilberforce by surprise. He was still more man than slug; and he tried to go back to his human shape. It slowed his movements. Rachel ran part-way down the steps. She waited as Theo reached up and caught the edge of the trapdoor. Mr Wilberforce saw what they meant to do. He lurched heavily forward.
‘Shine the torch in his eyes,’ Theo cried.
The beam struck the man squarely in the face, showing muddy eyes set deep in caves. He gave a grunt that might have been of pain and flung up his hands. Theo worked the trapdoor to its point of balance. The man, the slug, came forward.
‘Duck,’ Theo yelled. He pulled the trapdoor down. It fell like lead and thumped him on the back, knocking him off the stairs into the dust below. It was Rachel who rammed home the heavy bolt, just as the door gave a groan and jerked upwards in the middle. It jerked again, again. The man above was pulling in a frenzy. Then a huge weight settled on the door. Its timber creaked and bent.
‘Is it going to hold?’ Theo’s voice came weakly from the floor.
‘I think so. Till they get something to break it.’ She came down the steps and crouched beside him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘A bit winded. It
missed my head.’
‘Where do we go from here? Don’t answer. I know. Theo, something’s happened to us. We don’t seem to need words. I can hear what you’re thinking.’
‘I can hear you too. We’ve got to go down there, Rachel. Down the tunnel.’
‘What if there’s water? We’ll drown.’
‘That’s better than waiting here for them.’
‘Can we throw something down first and hear if there’s a splash?’
He got up painfully and limped to the tunnel. ‘There might be more of them down there. I’m sorry. Don’t cry.’
‘I can’t help it. I just … don’t want to be … caught.’
‘We’ll get out. Can you find my camera? Bring it over here.’
She wiped her cheeks and watched him in the torch-light. He knelt beside the tunnel and placed the camera on its lip.
‘You’ll lose your pictures.’
‘They’re not important now. Anyway, we’re going to the same place.’
‘Listen to them quack. They’re planning something.’ There was a great slithering sound above. The weight went off the door. Then there was a silence. ‘Oh, please be quick.’
He shoved the camera forward as hard as he could. It slid easily on the glass, almost soundlessly. He pulled her hand with the torch down and they watched the small black case speed to the corner and turn quickly out of sight. They waited. The tunnel kept the faint sound alive for a moment, but soon it died. Then there was nothing. The camera had simply gone – down – into darkness – into nothingness it seemed.
‘Is it our turn now?’
‘Yes.’
The silence above was more frightening than the darkness below.
Theo sat on the lip of the tunnel. The glass felt like ice on his legs and was so slippery that for a moment he thought he was sliding away. Rachel took hold of his collar. She sat behind him.
‘Give me the torch,’ Theo said. ‘Now put your legs around me. And your arms. Wherever we’re going we’d better arrive together. Are you all set?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shove yourself forward then.’
5
‘A TUNNEL’S GOT TO GO SOMEWHERE’
She pushed herself on to the glass and at once they shot forward at a speed that made them cry out with surprise. They went round the first bend and the slope grew steeper. Theo had trouble keeping the torch steady. Their momentum forced them down on their backs. Rachel could see nothing. She held Theo’s collar. Several times his weight almost dragged him away from her. He had to let go the torch to keep his grip on her legs. It fell behind them, turning slowly, lighting the tunnel then leaving it in darkness.